King and Queen of Ghosts
by RainIsMyMusic
Summary: Ezekiel made a mistake two years ago. A mistake that resulted in the murder of his sister by his hands. After two years in Wolfsbane Prison, he was finally pardoned by his father, King Lionel, as his last act. He is now the crown prince by default. Now dealing with grief and a Selection, Ezekiel, The King Of Ghosts, must save his country before it crumbles from the inside. SYOC
1. Up in Flames

**Hey, guys! Guess who is, yet again, back with another SYOC! ME! Ok, so I've had this idea for a pretty long time, and I am pretty excited. Rules and form will be at the bottom and on the profile. Let us begin!**

 **PS. I went crazy with the summary, so bear with me.**

* * *

 **SUMMARY:** The Shreave family had died out one hundred years ago, when the crown prince Isaak Peregrine Shreave was assassinated by northern rebels. His younger sister, Dorothea Florentia Shreave-Alisander, and her husband, Adolphus Cornelius Alisander became the monarchs. Adolphus continued the Selection for his son, Harcourt Cornelius Alisander. The Selection continued throughout the reign of the Alisanders to Lionel Wolfstan Alisander, the king of present day. He married Lavinia Ramsbury, who became queen, through the selection. A year later, twins Ezekiel and Emmeline Alisander were born, and they became crown prince and princess.

Soon, other children followed, and everything seemed fine for a while. Ezekiel and Emmeline were 18, and their own selections were in planning. They would have a competition through the Selection to find out who would become king and queen.

Until the night of their 19th birthday.

Officials found Ezekiel, sobbing, clutching Emmeline's dead body, stained with blood. A gun was laying nearby his hands, and the small gazebo they were in was burning to the ground. An investigation was made, and they discovered that Emmeline was shot, murdered. Murdered by her own twin, Ezekiel.

The public was outraged when they heard the news. The matter became conspiracy, and everyone had a side. For Ezekiel, or against it. King Lionel, due to the public's angry rampage and threats against an uprising against the monarchy, sent his son to Wolfsbane prison, where he has stayed for two years in grief and shame.

Until now.

Lionel has finally passed on, due to a fight against cancer. His last act as king pardoned his son for his crimes, granting him entrance back into the lives of his family. Ezekiel was now crown prince by default. A selection was put in place to stifle the anger of the public, to distract them.

But cracks are forming within the facade. People in the castle want Ezekiel, The King Of Ghosts, dead. Even some members of his own family. Their are spies hidden in the walls, and Ezekiel must save his country, before it crumbles from the inside.

 **OFFICIAL SONG FOR THE KING AND QUEEN OF GHOSTS: "Up In Flames" by Ruelle.**

* * *

 _Keeping on the outside_

 _Glimmer in the moonlight_

 _Only shadows there dwell we are_

 _Creeping on the edge of the dark_

* * *

 **EZEKIEL**

* * *

Ezekiel laid on his cot. A tanned, scarred hand raked through his brown hair, and he sighed. He nervously tapped his hands against his thigh, waiting.

Waiting for a visitor that would never come.

He let out a breath and stood up, walking alongside his room. Being a prince had its benefits, he was the only one in the room. It did, although, mean that he had to entertain himself with his mind.

And his mind was not very playful or entertaining.

His blue eyes looked across the small room, the room he had been confined to for the past three years. Lovely, wasn't it? He had his cot in the corner, a small white blanket draped across it, with a small teddy bear his sister had given her.

He wasn't even there to see her birthday.

Ezekiel looked around the room once more, trying to organize the mess, like he did every day. His desk (That had taken some bartering and begging) sat in the corner, a pad of paper laying on the wooden surface, a pen sitting atop it. Then there was his window.

His glorious, glorious window.

It was small, tiny compared to what he remembered of what the palace looked like, but it was his only remanent of his old life.

He sat near it, his eyes closing as he felt the wind whistle through the bars and caress his face, like the motherly touch he hadn't had for years.

Dammit, won't someone visit him? Is it too much to ask?

He asked himself these questions every day, every night, every afternoon. Why? Why? _WHY?_

He felt like screaming, like he had done every day for the past two years. Two years trapped, rotting in this hell.

 _Family really does care for one another._

 _The irony._

He finally stood up and walked over to his desk. Sitting down tentativly, he picked the pen up and started to write.

 _My Dear Castra,_

 _Hello again. I had some leftover paper, and I thought about writing to you. How is Father? Last I saw him he was proud and tall, but I have heard about some helath issues from the whispers of the guards and other inmates. I hope he fares well, he is a good king._

 _Is Mother doing well? When the wind blows through the bars of my window, it still feels like when she tucked me and my siblings in at night. The good days. I have been thinking about the times when we couldn't go to sleep, and she used to make us cookies. Homemade, chocolate chip, heavenly. And remeber when we tried to recreate the recipe? Flour was everywhere!_

 _How is my darling little mouse? I recieved your present earlier this week, the little teddy bear with the black buttons for eyes. I have namd him Sir Theodore. I hope you had a fantastic birthday, with delicious cake and glorious presents._

 _That is all, my lttle mouse, and the sun is starting to set. Sweet dreams._

 _Love,_

 _Your Zeke._

He signed the letter with his name, the little nickname his Castra called him, since she still was unable to pronounce his name right. The last time he saw her, she was only four. Four years old, and she saw him carted away to prison, and a gravestone in the garden.

His sister's gravestone.

He sighed, longingly, and folded the letter into an envelope, and placed it in a small basket, where hundreds of other letters sat, undelivered.

 _Maybe one day he'll actually send them._

He pushed himself away from the desk and sat back down on his cot. What does he do now?

Suddenly, the cell's doors opened, and guards filed into the room. They were cold and silent, but one in the back bowed his head solemnly.

 _What's going on?_

He stood up and looked at the guards, staring at him with unblinking eyes. "Well?" he asked hesistantly, noting their hands holding their weapons carefully.

"Ezekiel Percival Alisander," The guard captain said, stepping in front of the other guards, "You have been pardoned by King Lionel Wolfstan Alisander, as his last act."

Ezekiel was silent when he recieved the news, but he faltered when he heard the last words. He should be happy, right? He was free, he could see his family. But last act? His mouth went dry. "La-Last act?" he asked quietly, putting a hand on the wall to steady himself.

"King Lionel has passed away an hour ago," The Captain said. Passed away? Fa-Father's dead. Grief washed over him like a ocean wave, and he sat back down on his bed.

 _No, No, this couldn't be happening._

 _Father's dead, Father's dead._

He put his hands on his eyes, pushing the tears back away in his head, locking them away. He hasn't cried since Emmeline's death, and, god, Father was dead...

He took in a shaky breath, and put his hands on his head. "What are you doing here then?" he responded quietly, his brown orbs still squeezed shut.

"We are here to escort you to the palace in Angeles," they simply said. He nodded faintly and followed them as they led him out of the jail cell. Strange, he hadn't left that cell since they last put him in there. He could hear the other prisoner's voices hushed low as he walked past, feeling their gaze penetrate his skull. He felt numb, hollow, out in the open. He only felt his heartbeat and the voice in his head, that stirred up the grief and the pain.

"Look, there he goes, The King Of Ghosts," a prisoner whispered to another. King of Ghosts, huh? It fitted. He was the king of ghosts, the bringer of death.

 _He promised his father that he would be there. He promised he would be there at his deathbed._

 _He promised._

A tear slipped down his cheek, quiet and slow, and he simply wiped it with the back of his hand, making sure no one saw the grief swelling and pooling in his eyes.

 _He promised._

* * *

 _We feel warmth in the cold corners_

 _Eyes in the back of our heads_

 _We roll out when the day's over_

 _Chasing silhouettes_

* * *

 **AARON**

* * *

Aaron didn't think he would see that, that bastard, dare step out of his prison cell. His green eyes seethed with hate as he put an arm across the stairs, protecting Lucille from that monster. Lucille looked up at him with green eyes, her dress hanging thin on her frame.

"You," Aaron glowered, his voice laced with antipathy.

Ezekiel stood by the door, the guards surrounding him and his hands behind his back. "Hello, Aaron. I was wondering when I would see you again," he said cooly, his eyes stained red.

Aaron let out a sigh and chuckled. "I was hoping never, brother." He pushed Lucille behind his back as a little girl bounded down the stairs in rapid speed, blonde hair flying across her face. "Zeke!" Castra shouted, running down the stairs, her teeth in a crooked smile. Ezekiel smiled, how could he smile, and bent down. She giggled and hugged him around the neck, before asking timidly, "Why weren't you at my party?"

He chuckled ruefully, and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "I was busy, darling," he stated, a badly veiled excuse. He was in jail, like the criminal he was and always has been.

"Mother's waiting for you upstairs," he stated coldly, making sure Lucille was behind him. Ezekiel nodded solemnly and walked up the stairs, passing him. Aaron, however, stayed in his spot.

After Ezekiel walked back into father's room, he waved for Castra and Lucillle to follow him. He walked up the stairs, feeling the family's weight of their grief and shame of having a murderer in their home.

 _Father just died, and he won't have that man become Lionel's legacy._

 _Not if he could help it._

* * *

 _When it all goes up in flames_

 _When it all goes up in flames_

 _We'll be the last ones standing_

 _We'll be the last ones_

 _We'll be the last ones standing_

* * *

 **LAVINIA**

* * *

The queen rested her hand against her husband's own, lifeless hand. A dainty hand of her own was clasped around her mouth, tears staining her cheeks. She closed her eyes, muffling the sobs that rose in her throat.

 _Lionel, her Lionel, was dead._

 _Why?_

She closed her pale blue eyes and continued to cry, slipping off her chair and resting her head against his bedframe.

 _Til death do us part. That was his marriage vow._

 _Til death do us part._

She folded her legs underneath her, ruffling her dress underneath the satin layers, and let out another cry, her mascara ruined beyond repair, her heart shattered into a million little pieces, settling between her lungs.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, but she could barely recognize it.

"Mom," the voice said. She recognized that voice, her son.

"Ezekiel," she said, her voice quivering, as she turned around. My, how he'd grown. His hair was long now, curly around his head. His eyes showed grief, and she simply patted his shoulder.

 _Why did she have to send her son, her son, away?_

"I'm sorry I have to see you at such a time," she murmured, pulling her son for a hug. She hadn't seen him, she hadn't seen him for so long because she was ashamed.

"I'm sorry," she simply stated, to be met with a simple response by Ezekiel. "No, I'm sorry."

She nodded, and pulled away. "I, I am so sorry to thrust this upon you," she simply said, before she looked down. "Since, since you have been pardoned, you are now the crown prince."

Ezekiel's eyes widened and he stepped away. He stood up and rested a hand on Lionel's arm. "I-I'm crown prince?"

"By default, since you have been pardoned, and I'm so sorry to thrust this upon you," Lavinia said, standing up to rest a hand on Ezekiel's.

"You are crown prince, and next in throne."

* * *

 _City made of thin glass_

 _Smoldering in pitch black_

 _Sin so thick you can't see the stars_

 _Can't tell good and evil apart_

* * *

 **OK! There we go! So, did you like? Did you? Did you? Anywho, so we have introduced you to Ezekiel, My precious little child who is too pure for this world, his parents, and the basic construction of the story. So, I am pretty pumped, and I am gonna need some OCs! RULE TIME!**

* * *

 **1) No Mary Sues or America copies**

 **2) Your character is allowed to be a One, only if they are a Baroness. But I don't want a whole bunch of Ones, like one or two, tops.**

 **3) You are allowed to submit a maximum of four characters, but they aren't allowed to know each other prior to the Selection. I may not select all, but maybe just one or two. OR EVEN ALL OF THEM!**

 **4) This SYOC is not first come, first serve. The Elite will be made up of detailed characters with lots of background, I can promise you that your character is more likely to get kicked out earlier if they don't have lots of details and background.**

 **5) I only want original characters, please! No OC's from other stories, I'll know.**

 **6) DETAIL! I want lots and lots of detail!**

 **7) Not every girl is blonde and blue eyed, and not all girls are "kind, caring, funny, gentle, etc.." (But some are). I want deep characters who have history, real problems, and real opinions.**

 **8) I don't want just threes and fours. I want lowly girls, Eights, or sevens, everyone has a purpose!**

 **9) Please submit them to me through PM, and have the title be, "Name, age, caste, occupation, province - King And Queen Of Ghosts."**

 **10) I want this to be really interactive, If you have a pinterest, tell me, and I would love it if you made a board for your character! I am under RainIsMyMusic, and I have all the info (Faceclaims, castle, clothes, etc.) on there as well!**

 **11) Everyone has a side on The Emmeline Murder. Most believe Ezekiel did it to become the king, but some believe it was a crime of passion, and he sufferes grief from it. (I can't tell you what really went down until later!)**

* * *

 **I'm gonna do ten elite, and ten supporting, just so everything doesn't get crazy now. IM SUPER EXCITED FOR THIS STORY! WOOHOO!**

 **ALSO, I am having a cover contest (Send the submissions to me at my pinterest), and the winner gets a date with my lovely child Ezekiel!**

 **The Info bout' the royals, and the form on the profile!** **Can't wait to see your characters!**

 **-Rain**


	2. Flesh and Bone

**Hey guys! I know I went off the grid for a while, but tis I! Personal problems got in the way, along with school. So, yeah. Here ya go! Sorry for the long delay!**

 **\- Rain**

 **OFFICAL SONG FOR KAQOG: "Flesh and Bone" by Keaton Henson (You should listen to the song while reading, it makes it more impactful, if not, totally fine!) (Also, Keaton Henson is great, like really great if you need some sad songs for your books just to let you know)**

 **PS. Ready to see some royal stuff before you read? I am! Let's go!**

 **CURRENT MEMBERS OF THE SHREAVES (Sorry this is kind of long but I had so much fun with it)**

 _Duke of Allens, Solomon Isaak Shreave_ III (FC: Keanu Reeves) - He is one of the most dangerous descendants of the Shreaves, at age 51. Descended from Isaak, the original prince, he sees himself as the rightful holder of the throne. He is very manipulative, and has a way with words. He is married to Selina Shreave. His son, Solomon Isaak Shreave IV, is the marquess of Allens, the only child of Solomon the third. Solomon will do anything for the throne, and knows he can use the hatred towards Ezekiel for his own advantage.

 _Duke of Fennley, Laurence Blackmore Shreave_ (FC: Dermont Mulroney) - He is one of the oldest of the Shreaves, at age 65. Descended from Modesty Allencia Shreave, the sister of Isaak, his family line is considered the wisest of the Shreaves. Educated at the finest schools and are some of the wisest rulers. Laurence sees the Alisander line as failing, but he knows it's too risky to start a revolution, so he waits in the shadows for the time to come when he is in power. His wife, Marina Modesty Shreave, had two children, fraternal twins, Abraham Allencia Shreave, and, Kenneth Blackmore Shreave.

 _Duchess of Paloma, Christianna Montgomery Nightingale_ (FC: Floriana Lima) - Christianna's family line is considered the strongest descendants of the Shreaves. At age 36, she is also the youngest, descending from Peregrine Andrew Shreave. Her parents died young from a car crash, and she became duchess at 15. Since then, she has helped and expanded her province to be profitable and wealthy. She is an ally to the Alisanders, and she, in fact, has a place in Angeles. Her husband left her, so she is a single mother, with her son, Peregrine Americus Shreave, and daughter, Madeline Juliana Nightingale.

 _Lord Solomon Isaak Shreave IV_ (FC: Jack Dail) - Isaak (Don't call him Solomon, he thinks about his dad) is a sweet, funny jokester who's next in line for becoming the Duke of Allens. He happens to love the Alisanders, and is best friends with Lucille. He also hung out a lot with Aaron and Ezekiel, although Aaron never liked Isaak's prankster personality. His father is verbally and psychologically abusive of him, as he believes he is ruining the Shreave name. But he doesn't tell anyone, because his father scares him. He happens to be best bros with the Shreave twins.

 _Lord Kenneth Blackmore Shreave_ (FC: Grayson Dolan) - Kenneth is a nature lover, and the oldest of the Shreave twins (As he and Abraham are called). He supports the Alisanders, along with his brother. He is the founder of his own charity to help preserve nature, called GROW AROUND THE WORLD. He is best bros with his twin and Isaak. He is worried that he won't be able to rule like his father, and he will fail his father.

 _Lord Abraham Blackmore Shreave_ (FC: Ethan Dolan) - Abraham is a happy-go-lucky 16-year-old who doesn't act like royalty. He tries to act as snazzy as possible, anywhere, and is a massive flirt. He is irresponsible, and enjoys partying more than being royalty. The press has a field day with him every five seconds. He is bros with Isaak and his twin. He acts out because he is trying to get the attention of his dad, since his dad only focuses on Kenneth.

 _Lord Peregrine Americus Nightingale_ (FC: Nick Robinson) - Peregrine is a serious, but highly intelligent 17-year-old. He and Aaron get along, as they both think Ezekiel can't be king. He takes his role as Marquess very seriously, and is very formal in speech, no matter what the occasion. He adores his little sister, but only when he's not in public. When he's in the public, he acts like he doesn't know her.

Lady Madeline Juliana Nightingale (FC: Sejla Bibuljica) - Madeline is a shy, mute, artistic 6-year-old. She likes to be alone and paint in her room. As the youngest of the Shreave children, she is babied by the entire Shreave family.

* * *

 _And I am alone, so don't speak_

 _I find war, and I find peace_

 _I find no heat, no love in me_

 _And I am low and unwell_

 _This is love, this is hell_

 _This sweet plague that follows me_

* * *

 **EZEKIEL**

* * *

 _Ezekiel walked in the rosebush maze, his fingers tenderly running against the plants. He was searching for Emmeline, and he could find her. He was always searching, she as always hiding._

 _And they were always running._

 _He looked around, trying to find his sister. Thorny vines covered in roses extended from the walls, and wrapped around his ankles and wrists. Ezekiel tried to rip them off, but they snaked around his joints, the thorns pricking into his skin. He hissed in pain and tried to run from the vines._

 _But they just kept coming._

 _Blood trickled from the wounds on his hands, as he tried to fight the roses. The vines yanked his arms back, like he was in handcuffs. He screamed in pain when they started to entwine themselves around his neck._

 _"Tick Tock." voices whispered in his ears as he strained against the killer roses. The roses went tighter against his throat, pricking the sensitive skin._

 _"There's nowhere left to run."_

 _"Tick Tock." The roses started to lift him off the ground, hanging him from a noose of red roses._

 _"Your time is running out."_

Ezekiel jerked away in bed, biting back a scream. His hands immediately felt around his neck, and found a white silk sheet wrapped around his neck, most likely from tossing and turning in his sleep.

Gasping for air, he ripped the sheet away from his throat and took a deep, shuddering breath. When he felt a stinging pain, he looked down at his wrists and forearms. Red angry scratches decorated his pale skin, from him trying to pry the roses away from his wrists. He sighed and gently touched the angry marks.

That was going to be hard to hide.

His shirt was soaked with sweat, and his skin burned like fire. Taking another deep breath to calm his heart, he stepped off his bed and scanned his room. It was simple, untouched from that last time he ever set foot in here.

The walls were a simple tan, accented with a mahogany desk, armoire, and his bed. The best part about it was the large, floor to ceiling window, which showed the palace gardens from every angle. Running a hand through his long, mussed locks, he decided to take a walk.

Maybe a walk would clear up his head.

He went to leave the room, but first he went to grab a small pistol. He ran his hand over the wooden stock, memories filling his head. Lionel gave Emmeline and him matching guns, to teach them self-defense. He slipped it into a simple robe's pocket and pulled the robe over his shoulders. He tentatively put his hand over the gun in his pocket. His father always told him to never go anywhere without a gun.

Because you never know who may try to stab you in the back.

* * *

 _And my body's weak, feel my heart giving up on me_

 _I'm worried it might just be, and my body's weak_

 _Feel my lungs giving up on me I'm worried it might just be_

 _Something my soul needs_

 _Something my soul need_

* * *

 **LUCILLE**

* * *

Lucille sat in front of the piano, her nimble fingers playing the keys like her life depended on it. The notes from Frederic Chopin's Scherzo No. 2 Op. 31 blasted from the piano, filling the ballroom with music. As she continued to play, she started to cry, and attacked the keys harder. Music flowed from her soul, filling the empty, desolate ballroom with color.

Tears trickled down her face and onto the keys as she played faster, her fingers flying from key to key. When she hit the end of the piece, she pushed herself away from the piano, and wiped the tears from her face.

She had come to the ballroom to vent, her father was dead, and her brother was back from prison, and now the criminal was the king.

Talk about family issues.

She ran a hand through her deep brown, wavy hair and sat back down onto the small stool.

What was she to do? She mourned through music, conveyed emotions through symphonies, cried through notes and keys.

She slumped and held her face in her hands. What was she to do?

She remembered a calming technique, taught by Emmeline.

 _Breathe in for three seconds, hold for five, breathe out for three._

She followed Emmeline's instructions, and softly placed her nimble fingers upon the piano. Her fingers moved slowly, playing 'Mia and Sebastian's theme' from the old classic 'La La Land."

The notes flowed around her, music pouring from her very being. As she played, she felt like Emmeline was sitting beside her, just like she used to. "You're doing great," she heard Emmeline say. She heard Lionel say, "Excellent, Lucille. Beautiful," and a hand on her shoulder. The two worlds collided, reality and fantasy, as notes flowed from her fingers. She finished with a flourish, and stared at the keys, breathing heavily.

"That was beautiful."

She turned around anxiously to see, speak of the devil, Ezekiel, leaning against the doorframe of the ballroom.

"I..uh..didn't know anyone was here," she stammered, standing up. She rung her hands, as she tried to find something to say.

Ezekiel looked different, different than she remembered. He was taller now, and more toned, but he still seemed like the lanky nerd Lucille remembered from so long ago. He never showed anyone his nerdy side, but he and Lucille would sit in the royal theatre and watch _The Great Gatsby_ in the middle of the night.

But his eyes, which once shone with light, seemed darker now, as if the flame had been extinguished.

"I was just taking a walk," he pointed to the end of the hallway. "I couldn't sleep."

Lucille bit her lip and nodded. She looked around, and smoothed the wrinkles on her dress.

"It's been hard for all of us to sleep," Lucille chuckled ruefully, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Ezekiel smiled sadly and ran a hand through his long hair. Another difference. The old Ezekiel never would have let his hair grow out, he liked to keep it messy and ruffled, to amplify trouble-maker and flirter.

So many things had changed.

Ezekiel walked over to her, shyly, and looked over at her. "Have, have you been practicing?" He asked quietly, tucking his hands in his robe. She nodded and looked down at her hands. She knew he was trying to make conversation, but she didn't know what to talk about.

What could she talk about? How he's been in prison for two years, and almost everyone in the kingdom hates him?

She looked up at his hands, and noticed something on the skin. Long, deep scratches lined his arms, colored a deep red.

"Ezekiel," she breathed, "what happened to your hands?"

Immediately, he stiffened and shoved his arms farther in his pockets. "It's nothing, I-" he stammered, trying to make an excuse, but Lucille cut him off. She walked up to him and grabbed his hand, studying the scratches.

"These look bad, Zeke," she whispered, calling on his long-forgotten nickname.

"Nightmares," he answered curtly, and yanked his hand forcefully away from her, stuffing it back in his robe. She could practically feel the tension in the air, radiating off him. Conversation over. But she saw in his eyes that he was scared. He was frightened.

Lucille was worried for him, as she wondered if his head would go so far into the deep end. A small part of her wanted to give him a hug. But he killed his own sister, _her_ sister.

So, she didn't.

Ezekiel stepped away from her and looked back at doorway. "I'm going to take a walk," he muttered, before turning away and walking towards the hallway. He turned when he reached the doorframe. He seemed colder now, more distant.

"Have a nice night, Lucille," he turned and walked down the hallway, away from her sight.

When his footsteps stop echoing in her ears, she sank back down onto the piano stool. She held her head in her hands, as she contemplated what just happened.

What was her family going to do?

She sat up straighter and let out a calming breath. In for three, hold for five, out for three. She tentatively placed her hands on the piano keys.

And she started to play her own melody, one of her own compositions. One of sorrow, heartbreak, sadness.

A melody to help another out of the dark.

* * *

 _And I see war on the screen,_

 _And it is cruel and unclean,_

 _But I still worry more about you_

 _And I am rude and unkind_

 _Have no thought, and have no time_

 _Have no eyes, so no point of view_

* * *

 **EZEKIEL**

* * *

Ezekiel walked along in the gardens, silently berating himself for talking to Lucille. What was he thinking, talking to her? Her father just died, and he killed her sister, Ezekiel doubted he saw her in a positive light. He scowled and muttered curses under his breath, venting his anger out.

He was angry at himself for still holding onto the hope that his family might accept him, but it was clear they wouldn't. Aaron despised him, and Lucille was nervous and anxious around him. The only ones that truly weren't scared of him were his mother and little Castra.

But he doubted they would support him long.

He sat down on a stone bench and ran a hand through his hair, combing it back as he thought to himself.

He was king now, and king meant Selection. There was no doubt about it, they would try to make him look favorable in the public's eye so there wouldn't be a rebellion. Instant way to enrapture the public, have a Selection.

35 girls were going to compete for his hand, and he was going to find his wife through those thirty-five.

What was he going to do?

He moved himself, and leaned back on the stone bench, staring at the stars. He didn't remember the sky being so beautiful, the stars twinkled and sparkled above him, entrancing him. He could sit here for hours, in the company of just the sleeping birds and the stars above. He forgot how peaceful the outside world was. Sure, he remembered them, but it was so long since he experienced it. So long since he was home. So long since he felt like he was safe.

He used to be a flirter, every five minutes a new girl on his arm. Everyone in the family teased him on it, especially Emmeline. Aaron used to make snide remarks at parties such as, "Where's Brittany? I thought she was your date," in front of a girl whose was not Brittany. Castra would whisper in his ear, "She's ugly," when his date's back was turned, or, "I'm gonna die if you keep talking to her. She doesn't like unicorns."

He let out a soft chuckle and put his hands behind his head, getting lost in memories.

Did he still have his charms? He hadn't seen a girl his age for, well, _ever_. He would probably make a fool of himself when he tried to impress her. _Hey, do you like weapons, 'Cause I'm a weapon when it comes to love. Also, I'm a murderer._ That wouldn't make anyone even think about talking to him, let alone marrying him.

He sighed and closed his eyes. His breathing evened out, and he found himself gently falling into slumber.

 _Maybe the nightmares wouldn't come this time._

* * *

 _And my body's weak, I feel my heart giving up on me_

 _I'm worried it might just be my body's weak_

 _Feel my lungs giving up on me, I'm worried it might just be_

 _Something my soul needs_

 _Something my soul needs_

 _Something my soul needs_

* * *

 **BENEDICT FAIRWIN, ROYAL ADVISOR**

* * *

Benedict grumbled to himself as he stormed through the gardens, hands bundled in his gray suit jacket. Where was that boy? He wasn't in his bed, and now half the castle was looking for him. Well, most were being forced to look for him, it was hard enough to rally a crew that wanted to search for the 'King of Ghosts."

So, Benedict had to do everything, like always.

Including looking through security camera footage of last night around the castle, searching for where Ezekiel had gone. He found out after around 4 hours that he was in the garden (With the help of the garden entrance security camera), but where? Who knew?

So, Benedict, at 10 o' clock, having been up since 6 am looking through every, single, minute of security camera footage, had to search through the gardens for a missing prince.

When was Benedict allowed to retire?

He grumbled more under his breath as he searched the green gardens and bushes, looking for a glimpse of the brown-haired insomniac. Where was he? That was when he spotted the sight of a blue robe. Walking towards to glimpse of color, he found the prince himself, asleep in the gardens.

He was curled up on a stone bench, with one arm thrown off his body, his hand touching the ground. One leg was one hanging off the bench awkwardly, and he looked like he had been thrown against a bench. It looked uncomfortable, but who was Benedict to judge?

Oh wait, he was allowed to judge. This kid made him look at security footage for four hours straight.

He had many snide remarks in his head, but he decided to erase them when he looked back at how peaceful Ezekiel looked. The kid had been through so much, and Benedict didn't want to be the needle that broke the camel's back.

Benedict sighed and muttered, "The things I do for royals," and poked Ezekiel in the shoulder.

"Prince... _King_ Ezekiel," he said, catching his mistake. It seemed like Lionel would come out of the castle and ask what Benedict was doing outside. Benedict tensed up at the memory of Lionel, and tapped Ezekiel a bit harder.

"King," he was getting impatient. Screw waking this kid up gently.

"Sir!" he shouted. Ezekiel jerked awake and stood up quickly staring at oblivion. "Yes, sir," Ezekiel said on command, as if he was back in Wolfs-oh.

"You're not in Wolfsbane anymore, sir," Benedict said, fixing his suit.

Ezekiel seemed to shake out of the daze he was in, and looked over at him. He looked embarrassed, and smiled shyly. Benedict looked at Ezekiel suspiciously when he saw Ezekiel push his hands deep in his pockets.

"What are you hiding?" Benedict said, exasperated. He was getting tired of being a royal advisor, why did he even agree to this job? He never signed up for murder or waking up at 6 am.

Ezekiel let out a defeated breath and held out his arm for Benedict to see. Crazed, angry lines were scratched on his skin. Benedict pursed his lips at the sight of the marks and released his arm.

"Nightmares, I presume," he said, looking at him. Ezekiel looked down, and nodded.

"Well, the make-up team will have to fix that," Benedict checked the problem off his list, "but you need to come with me since we only have an hour or two."

"Hour or two?" Ezekiel asked, confused.

"Why, your father's funeral, you're speaking there.

"The funeral is today?" Ezekiel questioned.

"Lionel and Lavinia had been planning it for a while, ever since he got diagnosed for cancer. Besides, It's the perfect opportunity to show the public their new king!" He said, emphasizing the last part. The new king looked unimpressed.

"Come along," he groaned and walked back towards the castle, "I will not have Michelle angry at me since you're late."

* * *

 _And I am more than this frame,_

 _I feel hurt and I feel shame_

 _I just wish you would feel the same_

 _And I am more than these bones_

 _I feel love, I feel alone_

 _I just wish you would come home_

* * *

 **EZEKIEL**

* * *

Ezekiel didn't know what to expect. Michelle was just as he thought she would be, super perky, though he was positive she hated him with her soul. They covered up the scratches with foundation, and told him, "Don't move your sleeves."

Helpful.

His hair was slicked back (After washing about three times, the stylists were horrified when they saw his hair) and he was thrown into a suit, simple but sleek. Black suit, white button-down, with a black tie. Ezekiel looked back in the mirror, looking at his transformation.

Once a criminal, now a king.

The world was changing so fast.

Before he was escorted outside, Benedict stopped them and handed Ezekiel a dark black shoulder holster for a gun, and told him to put it on. Ezekiel complied, and watched as Benedict handed him his pistol, with the statement of, "People want you dead, be prepared."

Now, Ezekiel walked out of the castle gates, bodyguards walking along each side of him. "This way, sir," one said, the burly man on his left, pointing to a black limousine that had pulled up to the castle steps. His voice held undisguised hatred, and Ezekiel gulped.

"Thank you," he whispered, and tentatively walked with his hands in his pockets, unsure of what to do.

How was he supposed to be protected if even the bodyguards hated him?

Soon, they arrived at the car, and the bodyguard on the right opened it for him. "Good luck, kid," he told Ezekiel, accompanied with a sad smile. Ezekiel nodded, and stepped into the car. There, Aaron, Castra, and Lucille sat. Before he could ask where mother was, Aaron curtly responded, "She's been at the cemetery since morning, getting prepared." Ezekiel clasped his lips shut and leaned back against the seat.

The car started to move, and everyone was silent, the calm before the storm.

Everyone was dressed in black, the color of mourning. Aaron had a simple black tux with a gray tie, and he looked out the window, trying to avoid looking at Ezekiel at all. Castra was wearing a simple black dress with white buttons down the front.

Emmeline again looked different, as if someone she had transformed from last night. Her hair was now up in a messy bun, strands falling and contemplating her tear-free eyes, unlike last night. She wore a black dress with black lace sleeves, and she rung her hands as she sat awkwardly next to Aaron.

Castra scooted over to lean on Ezekiel, burying her face in his shirt. "I want Daddy back," she mumbled, curling up next to him. Ezekiel felt his heart break at the sight, and gently put an arm around her.

Aaron scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Stop acting like you're sad, Ezekiel. I highly doubt you're doubting the loss of the person who put you in Wolfsbane," Aaron glared at him, his gaze as cold as ice.

"Shut up, Aaron. We're all mourning. It doesn't mean you have to act like a-," he looked down at Castra and forced back the coarse word he was about to say, "jerk about it."

Aaron rolled his eyes. "You were in jail for a reason."

"You should watch your mouth you-"

"Stop it!" Castra shouted, burying her face back in Ezekiel's coat. Lucille glared silently at both, her glare was more frightening than any word she could say.

Ezekiel took a deep breath to calm himself down, and looked at the window. Why did Aaron have to act like a jackass today of all days?

"How long did you mourn, Ezekiel? Five minutes?" Aaron asked, mocking sympathy. Ezekiel started to see red.

"That's it!" he yelled. He removed his arm from Castra, and stood up as best he could in a moving car. He poked his finger in Aaron's chest as he spoke, getting into Aaron's face.

"I didn't want to be king. I didn't want my father to die. You think I want to be king? The people hate me, and would gladly form a lynch mob for my neck!"

"And rightfully so," Aaron stared emotionless at Ezekiel, while Ezekiel was so close to strangling Aaron right there.

"You two, shut up!" Lucille separated the two, pushing Ezekiel back into his seat. "Our father just died. So both of you, shut it, or I will kick you out of this car!"

Both stopped glaring at the force of Lucille's words. Lucille hated talking, and when she spoke, she was dead serious about her words. Lucille settled back into her seat, and smoothed out the wrinkles on her skirt.

Ezekiel leaned back into the seat and looked over at Castra. She was siting curled up in the corner, clutching a small stuffed rabbit. When he reached his arm out to her, she scowled at him, and gripped the rabbit tighter.

Aaron looked over at Ezekiel and gave him a smug smile before turning to face the window.

That little creep. He wanted to make Ezekiel angry, to outcast him from the other children. Even among his siblings Ezekiel was shunned. He sighed and closed his eyes as he rested his head against the seat cushions.

This was going to be a long ride.

* * *

 _And my body's weak, I feel my heart giving up on me_

 _I'm worried it might just be my body's weak_

 _Feel my lungs giving up on me, I'm worried it might just be_

 _Something my soul needs_

 _Something my soul needs_

* * *

They arrived at the royal burial ground in silence. Their chauffeur opened the car door, and they all stepped out. The royal burial ground was on a grassy hill, with dark, foreboding mountains in the distance. Ezekiel remembered a little too well that last time he as here.

They all stood against the wind, clouds rumbling angrily above. Even the heavens would mourn today.

Ezekiel walked away from his siblings and looked at the funeral. It was a private affair, but that didn't' excuse Collin, the host of the _Illea Capital Report,_ from being there. 'Private still meant hundreds of people, dignitaries, dukes, ambassadors, even military officials.

Ezekiel sighed and mumbled under his breath the funeral speech he would give. He practiced on the ride here, going over every word, every syllable. He needed to show people he was a nice guy.

If not, he didn't know what to do.

White chairs sat against the lush grass, people milling about, talking to each other. Ezekiel was about to sit down and practice his speech when he heard a voice.

"Oh my gosh, Ezekiel!" a figure came up and hugged him from behind, making Ezekiel go tense. Ezekiel wrestled himself from the figure's grip and turned around to see Lord Solomon Isaak IV. Or just Isaak. Isaak grinned happily, a stark contrast from the grim atmosphere they were in.

"Sorry if I startled you, I just didn't know how else to say, 'Hey, I know you!' so I just kinda went for it, but now I see that it was probably not a good decision, so, "Isaak took a deep breath, "hi."

Ezekiel smiled at the sight of his old friend. Isaak was the son of the Duke of Allens, AKA Solomon III, a frightening man who thought the crown as his. Even then, Isaak still managed to become friends with the Alisander heirs, how, Ezekiel still couldn't recall.

Isaak smiled nervously before whispering, "My dad really hates you right now, so I'm gonna go before he murders me since I'm talking to you." Just like that, Isaak was gone, disappearing into the crowd.

Ezekiel sighed. Did anyone not hate him?

Soon, he heard a soft piano piece, signaling people to sit down. Ezekiel walked down the aisle of white chairs to sit in the chairs reserved for royals. Aaron was already there, looking as though he won a contest of who could get to the funeral chairs at their dad's funeral first. He was starting to dislike him greatly.

Castra sat bundled up next to his mother, who was clutching a handkerchief like a drowning man holds a lifesaver.

Lucille played the piano, softly, her figure bent over the keys in concentration. As she played, A dark mahogany coffin moved in the aisle, his father's last resting place. At the sight, his mother broke down, silently sobbing. Ezekiel put his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to help his mother. Members of his old military unit carried him down the aisle, before setting him down on a table. The opened the casket to show their king, Lionel.

A priest walked forward, and stood before a podium.

"Beloved subjects of Illea, today, we are gathered to mourn the loss of our great king, Lionel." The priest took a deep breath and continued. "Joshua was born an only child, his mother died giving birth to him. After that, his father refused to remarry, and instead focused on raising his child."

People nodded in the audience, murmuring, while Ezekiel just sat still, looking at the mahogany casket in front of him.

"Everything was not as peaceful as it seemed. 29 years ago, the northern rebels attacked, and tried to rip the Monarchy away from the Alisanders. The 18-year-old Joshua decided to join the military and fight among his people. He became known, not for his status, but for his bravery. People loved him."

The priest took a shuddering breath. "That was when Joshua's father, the late Cristopher Wolfstan Alisander, was shot at a charity event. Joshua's world went dark. After that, the rebels attempted to steal the bunker Joshua and his roommates were bunking in. The battle was bloody, and Lionel got the scar that marked his face from that battle. But he fought with bravery and strength, and single-handedly pushed them out of the bunker. That was when Joshua Wolfstan Alisander chose a new name, Lionel Wolfstan Alisander, King of Illea."

"After the rebellion, Lionel returned to the castle a broken man. Haunted by the things he saw, he almost committed suicide, as he had no one left. He didn't see the point of living. Before he could pull the trigger, a maid intercepted and put him into counseling. The counselor suggested the Selection, a way to keep his mind off the pain he suffered. Lionel agreed."

Lavinia smiled sadly when she heard Selection, and Ezekiel kept his arm wrapped around his mother, as if he could secure her to the ground and reality.

"Thirty girls arrived at the castle, eager to win the broken king's heart. But Lionel wasn't interested. He wanted to simply stop existing. But, a tragedy focused Lionel into the real world, and gave him purpose. Rebels bombed his castle, wreaking carnage throughout his home. Eleven Selected died, not counting the maids, servants, and more who suffered in the attack. But, maybe, the attack had a purpose, as he saved the mysterious Lavinia's life during the bombing. And he fell in love."

Lavinia wrapped her arms around herself, her black, silk gown doing nothing to keep out the chill she felt. Ezekiel continued to listen to the priest's eulogy.

"A few months later, he and Lavinia were married. He left to fight in the war with the troops, and won in the battles. He returned to his wife after three years, and simply enjoyed her company. Four years later, Lavinia was pregnant with twins, Ezekiel Percival Alisander, and," here he hesitated, "Emmeline Florentia Alisander."

Here, people murmured things like, "She was so young," or, "Ezekiel shouldn't be here." He stiffened when he heard the mean comments about himself, and glared silently at the coffin, channeling his anger through glaring and not punching someone.

"Soon, he had more children, such as Aaron Harcourt Alisander, Lucille Dorothea Alisander, and Castra Emmeline Alisander. They grew up happily, and he ruled his kingdom wisely and kindly."

"And then the twin's 19th birthday came."

Instantly, Ezekiel felt to blood rush to his head. _Please_ , he wanted to beg, _don't talk about Emmeline_.

"The party started fine, until it ended with a murder, a murder by one of his own children." Ezekiel could hear the hatred in the priest's voice. Ezekiel's head swam with memories and he clasped his hands against his head, to stop the torrent of pain.

"Ezekiel Percival Alisander was sent to prison, which tipped Lionel over the edge. He began to smoke, a nasty habit he picked up in the military. Soon, he had Stage Four Lung Cancer, and died just yesterday. His last act pardoned Ezekiel for his crimes against the royal family, making him king."

Ezekiel felt the glares of everyone in the audience, and he ducked further in his seat. All Ezekiel wanted was to disappear right now.

"Rest in Peace, King Lionel. Long may you reign." the priest finished. People applauded politely, and whispers rang in the audience, all about Ezekiel. _He's a murderer. Can we trust him? He's nothing but a killer, and he'll kill again._

The rest of the funeral passed quickly in Ezekiel's eyes, speeches were said and comments were made. he felt the audience slowly turn against him, slowly start to question him.

Until suddenly, it was his turn to speak

Ezekiel gulped. He'll be fine, right?

He unsteadily stood up, fixing his hair. Quickly, he hurried to the podium, and stared at the audience. It was here that he forgot every word he was supposed to say, every comment.

He felt their eyes on him, accusing, hating, murdering.

He started to sweat, and looked down at his feet.

"My, my dad," he said, haltering, "always told us a story before we went to bed." Ezekiel could still picture it, the golden days of childhood. "It ranged from Robin Hood, to Red Riding Hood, and even some of his war stories. But-But I remember this one story he told us one night."

Ezekiel took a calming breath, and let the memory wash over him, taking him far away from the world's malice.

"Me and Emmeline were ten, Aaron was eight, and Lucille was 6. We were sitting by the fire, and he sat in his favorite chair by the window. And he told us a story."

"Once upon a time, there was a king. This king was brave, and strong, but he had no heart. His people lived in fear of him, as they thought he would hurt them, so they never visited his lavish castle, that was always open. When he rode down the streets on his horse, people hid themselves in their houses, fearing the no-heart king.

But in the end, they realized that it was they who took away his heart. They never visited him, taught their children to be afraid of him, and feared his presence. And after a while, the king's heart slowly, chipped away."

"I remember him looking at us and saying, 'give people a chance, or else you took away their heart, just like the villagers."

The audience was quiet.

But then, someone stood up, clapping sarcastically. It was Solomon III, and he smiled evilly at Ezekiel. "Well, that was a lovely story, wasn't it?" He walked into the aisle, and looked at Ezekiel dead in the eye, "Funny, though, how we should give you a chance when you didn't give Emmeline one."

Instantly, the crowd stood up and started chattering, speaking myths and legends about Emmeline's murder. Ezekiel felt himself losing control of the audience.

"It was an acciden-" Ezekiel started to say, but Solomon cut him off. "It wasn't an accident, you fired on purpose. And you know that."

Ezekiel stared at the audience in horror, trying to fight back the memories. "Oh, I'm sorry, your highness, but your heart was taken from you the minuet you pulled the trigger.

That did it for Ezekiel.

Suddenly he was back.

 _There was fire everywhere, burning his clothes._

Ezekiel stumbled away from the podium, starting to hyperventilate.

 _"EMMELINE!" He shouted, waiting for a response._

He heard shouts of anger and of concern as he faltered in his steps, his eyes torn between past and present.

 _"Ezekiel," a faint whisper, a pained moan._

He started to run away from the crowd, running away from the funeral.

 _"Where are you!?" Ezekiel shouted into the flames, searching, always searching._

His legs burned as he ran faster, his suit jacket flapping in the wind.

 _Ezekiel saw her, slumped against a post of the gazebo, already starting to burn._

Ezekiel saw a barn and ran into it, slamming the sliding door closed.

 _He held Emmeline in his arms, and broke through the weakened gazebo posts, feeling her starting to slip from life._

Ezekiel pressed himself against the wall and pulled his knees up to his chest.

 _Emmeline's life was fading..._

Ezekiel pressed his hands against his head and murmured to himself, "Wake up, wake up, Wake up,"

 _Emmeline's life was slipping..._

Wake up.

 _Slipping..._

 _So..._

 _Far..._

 _Away..._

Ezekiel felt a hand on his shoulder, and he shook it off, seeing the demons hidden behind his eyes.

Lavinia was there, and she sat down next to him. She gently pulled him into a hug, and he reciprocated it, clutching onto her desperately. He didn't care that he was king, and that he was hugging is mother. All he could feel was him slipping into the dark, and he needed someone to pull him into the light.

 _There was nothing he could do._

* * *

 _Something my soul needs_

 _Is you, lying next to me_

 _And it's you, lying next to me_

* * *

 **There we go! A super angsty sad second chapter. I'm so nice. Anywho, hope you like and send in the submission please! Also, I may do a Lionel Selection story, because I kind a fell in love with his character as I wrote the eulogy. Tell me what you think about that!**

 **Tata!**

 **\- Rain**


End file.
